


Freehold

by herbailiwick



Series: Timeshare [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second part of the Season 9 Mooseley AU "Timeshare". </p><p>Dean's body belongs to Michael. Sam and Crowley are married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Experience Is the Father

When Sam saw his father on Earth again, in the doorway to their room, standing there with a smug smile that was painfully familiar, Sam just knew he was there to make him miserable, to punish him for everything he'd revealed in Heaven, to crush him down for thinking he could ever be normal.

He shook his head, backing away. "If you don't have a damn good reason for showing up," he said, "I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." Sure, they’d parted on decent terms, considering, but there was already too much bad there, too much negativity. 

"I have one," John said, using the voice he used when he tried to manipulate—though, to be fair, it sounded a lot like his genuinely nice voice, on the rare occasion that voice came into use. He refused to elaborate on that reason, walking into the space Sam had left between them, and that was when Sam saw Adam follow John into the room. 

Sam felt relief wash over his tense frustration. "Risk is out with…the others, scouting," he told him, not wanting to announce that Mary was around in case she didn't want to talk to John, because he wasn't sure.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Crowley asked from the couch as John made his way to the kitchen area. "Other than the obvious." He meant other than dropping off Adam. Or…did he? What else could have been obvious to Crowley, and was it something Sam was sensing too?

"Got any food?" John asked, avoiding the subject altogether. “You always bunk with demons, Sam?” There was amusement in his eyes. He was making fun; Sam just knew. Or was he trying to lightly rib him, to be some kind of older male family member just kind of messing with him? Things were so weird, so much weirder than usual, with John Winchester around.

Maybe he wanted to make amends? That would be, honestly, equally or even more terrifying, because it meant a lot of stuff he never wanted to have to get into, not anymore, not after so long, and because it would be very, very new. 

***

“Remember when we’d get KFC for Christmas?” Sam asked, trying to test out John’s interested in reminiscing.   


John sat up a little straighter, nodding. “Yeah. It used to piss you off. But, you know I can’t cook.”

Sam shrugged at that. He could barbecue really well when he bothered to try, but he hardly ever did. He could throw things together okay, make a decent sandwich. He didn’t offer any of these observations, just took a moment to asses John’s mood. 

“Remember that one where you didn’t come back for Christmas? I think it was...’91.”

“I think I missed more than one,” John admits. It was interesting; he showed no signs of wishing to apologize for the past, but had an obvious comfort with the memories Sam couldn’t remember him displaying before. Perhaps being in Heaven had helped. Perhaps absence had made his desire for fatherhood better.

So, Sam decided to tell him, about finding the journal. About having his world both make so much more sense and no sense at all. Crowley was very interested in the tale, though he’d probably read about it, and Adam stopped eating to pay attention too.

So, maybe he wasn’t there to criticize Sam’s every move. He didn’t really seem to be there to apologize for anything either, though. It was probably something else, because it was always something.

***

He wondered if John wasn't finally ready to chase after Mary. Revenge for Mary had been their life-long mission. She had been someone Sam was never allowed to ask about but that he'd always had to respect, admire, and defend. After meeting her, Sam could understand the kind of love she could inspire in someone. He'd always wanted to spend time with her on a deep and painful level, imagining what she was like, and now that she was alive again, he had called her twice for no reason already.  


“No. That’s not why I’m here,” he said easily.  


“Oh, it’s not?” Sam said, his hands clenching at his sides. All the lies, all the sneaking. This man had had a big impact on the way he and Dean had communicated, long after he was gone.  


“No.”  


"So...you won't go see her, but you'll conveniently come down for a visit right after she does?" Sam tried. Normally, he let people have their motives, all their angles, without pushing too much, but this was John Winchester, and Sam had been played by the man ever since he was six months old. He doubted that pattern had fallen out of style.

“Okay, Sam.” He looked up from where his gaze had fallen on Sam’s angel warning pendant, on the table near them. “Okay. I’ll call her, if you’re so dead-set.”  


As Sam tried to find the promise reassuring, he watched John touch the pendant with his fingertips, then pick it up for a moment, as if that would tell him something, something he wanted to know.

"I have the number of the woman who made it, too, Dad." His voice was a little cool as he offered the options to his father, testing him if he wanted to be tested.

John shot him a long-suffering look. "You're used to dealing with angels, and I'm not." He dug a piece of paper out of his pocket, taking a quick look at it. It was covered with tiny, scribbled notes. From the other side of the table, Sam could only tell that it wasn't John's writing.

"What is that? That piece of paper?" Sam tried for nonchalance. Maybe this was finally it, whatever secrets that paper held. Maybe this was why he was on Earth.

John acted casual as he folded the piece of paper up again and stuck it in his pocket. "I'm not here to see your mother," he said again, gaze strong and steady. Didn’t he feel uncomfortable at all? Sam certainly did. "Not primarily, anyway. I wanted to see you."

"Well, no offense or anything," Sam decided. "But that's a first."

"Yeah," John agreed, and the ease of it actually put Sam a little more at ease. "Nice to have someone around right now who can show their face in public, though, isn't it?"

"Two someones," Sam replied, eyeing Adam, who was over on the couch, watching TV with Crowley. Sam reached over to the pendant and slipped the chain back over his neck.

"You're really attached to that thing, huh? Never thought of you as the necklace type."

"It's an amulet," Sam said with a hint of defense. He didn’t know what he was hearing in the tone, but he didn’t like it, especially after having just married Crowley. "You know, like the one Dean used to wear."

"Yeah,” John scoffed, “but that wasn't a dainty little pair of wings, was it?" There was a look in his eye that meant he was trying to push Sam. It made Sam falter for a moment. Okay, so, no, they didn’t look the same. Maybe Sam did like dainty things sometimes. 

"No," Crowley admitted smoothly, reaching into his collar and pulling it out. "It's not dainty. See it?"

"Is that Dean's?" John asked. "Or, well, after what you told me about '91, is that mine?" 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean threw that thing away when he got pissed at me for something out of my control, so, you know, that apple didn't fall too far from the tree," he quipped. "He's okay with Crowley having it, though. 

"Shouldn't you care more about the fact he’s missing right now?" Crowley pointed out, admiring the amulet a little more.

"I've seen him," John said.

"Where?!" Sam demanded, almost before he fully realized what John was saying.

John crossed his arms and stood, eyeing Sam. "Maybe he doesn’t wanna be found by you and yours."

"Wow. Same old, same old, huh?" Sam shook his head. "Show up on your terms, when you're not really wanted, Dad, and definitely when you're not expected, and just withhold anything that might, I don't know, actually make me feel for one second like the world isn't gonna collapse in on me."

"I'll take that number after all," John announced. 

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Which one?" 

***

"I don't know how much longer I can do this," Sam said honestly as Crowley worked on his shoulders through the cotton of his v-neck. "That's nice," he praised softly, then announced again, "Yeah, I don't know if I can handle him being here much longer."

"I understand, love," Crowley assured him. "I read those books, you know. He's a master of manipulation."

"Yeah," Sam sighed.

"But so am I," Crowley reminded him. 

It did, actually, make Sam feel a little better. "Keep going," he told Crowley. "He could be back any minute. I'd like to lose at least a little of this tension before he starts asking for whatever it is he really wants."


	2. Where Nothing Is Certain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a harsh wake-up call.

Sam woke up lying next to a stiffening, unmoving corpse, which was honestly something he'd never done before.

Objectively, he knew what dead looked like, even when it was one of your own, a loved one, a lover. He'd had that happen so often, it was a frequent nightmare. So, he ran his hands through his hair, hoped maybe he'd wake up, but he didn't. He reached over to examine further, feeling creepy and invasive, and just a little nauseated.

No burnt out eyes, not even under the lids. He shook his hand out in disgust after checking, sighing. So maybe it wasn't an angel's fault. What was it then, besides the horrible curse on him, that superstition he could never really completely dismiss? He saw no new marks on the skin at all, intimately familiar with all the old scars Crowley had as well as intimately familiar with what old scars looked like on bodies.

He crept out of bed in his v-neck and a pair of sweatpants, still feeling the protection of both early-morning shock and his familiarity with loved ones dying. He was wondering if anyone else was dead, if some kind of a rapture scenario had happened. Nick was on the couch like he’d been most of their stay, though: hardly sleeping, laughing at a re-run of a sitcom, wearing that same insulting outfit that meant danger and pain. 

Sam had meant to offer him some clothes, actually, because the outfit _really, actually_ bothered him. Plus, Nick was starting to smell. He didn't seem to notice, but Adam had made a face and avoided sitting close. Crowley's body was going to give Nick's B.O. a run for it's money after a little while.

Decay was a natural process. Sam had seen bodies in various states of it before, had had to touch them or move them or burn them up. Would Crowley want a hunter's funeral? Would  _the critic_ he'd been inhabiting?

Sam reached over the back of the couch for the remote, not minding the hint of cruelty he felt in putting the television on mute. He had Nick's attention now, and Nick looked nervous to give it. Sam didn't blame him; Sam was trying to be calm and intimidating all at once. He’d picked up a little something from Lucifer.

"So, Nick” he said. “What exactly did you do to him?" 

Nick's eyes widened. He blinked as he looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Hey, Sam,” he said quietly. He didn’t know what else to say. That’s okay, because Sam did, or, well, he knew what he _wanted_ to say.

"I mean, we can sit here with your TV on mute. I got time. No plans for today anymore, obviously." Those had all gone out the window. He'd wanted to see if Gabriel would cover them long enough to go to the store. 

Nick really smelled bad.

Nick frowned. "I didn't do anything to him. Uh, we had some breakfast. He's okay, right?" He turned to look at Adam's door with concern. He seemed to want to help and protect Adam. He’d lost a son, hadn’t he? A baby. 

"What? No. Not Adam," Sam said coolly, pushing his sympathy away. Nick paused, helpless. "My husband. Crowley."

"What?"

There was a buzzing in Sam’s ears, a heat in him from anger he didn’t have an anchor for. He was taking it too far. Maybe he wasn’t even right. "I mean, he was fine when we went to sleep. What did you do? I didn’t even wake up." 

Everything was too quiet. It all made sense on some level; Sam remembered how hard it could be to separate himself from Lucifer, and he was a very controlled person. Nick, not being a hunter, not knowing about being a vessel ahead of time, had less opportunity to understand the distinctions, and had been deep in grief Sam had yet to understand. 

Sam had seen the destruction Lucifer caused to all the gods who had gathered at the Elysian Fields motel. Lucifer did all that with Nick's hands.

"Why? What's wrong with him?" Nick asked, expression suddenly blank, unreadable to Sam. Sam recognized that as a response to trauma. He also recognized that as a response to wanting to keep a secret. 

"He's gone. That ves sel is rotting in our bed." Sam eyed Nick closely. 

"Demons can...die?! What?!"

"Don't play dumb with me!" Sam snapped, with more force than he'd intended. Nick jumped, and Sam felt, rightfully, bad about it. So much for control. Sam took a step back. He lowered his voice. 

"Don't you remember Lucifer killing demons? I know he did it, like, all the time."

"Like I make it a point to remember that shit," Nick said, his eyes concerned again, not blank. "I guess you're right."

Sam had to recognize for a moment that there were people who wanted to forget what had been done with their body. Like when Meg had used him to kill all those hunters. Somehow, he liked remembering that less than what all Lucifer had done with him, or Gary.

He also had to recognize that maybe Nick was a really cool guy who was handling stuff really admirably and Sam was a dick.

"Sam," Nick said with a gaze that was gentler than it should have been. "Show me. Show me him." 

"Seriously?" Really, if Nick hadn't done it, Sam shouldn't have even been bothering him. Nick had lost his wife, in the bed next to him, ages ago. Nick had lost his baby in his own bed, too. Why would Sam ever want bother anyone who didn't do it, and why would he want to bother Nick specifically, with Nick’s specific trauma?

"Sam, we're the two people who should be the  _most_ understanding of each other right now," he said, open, full of sighed breaths. "I can at least help you move him."

"It’s more than I deserve," Sam admitted, considering the offer. Under another thin layer of disgust, Sam wanted to connect with Nick, but he also didn't. Nick was offensive to all Sam's senses, even if Nick had just been a victim, and even if now Lucifer was kind of Sam's friend. His hallucination of Lucifer, also using Nick's appearance, had definitely not been Sam's friend, though they'd worked a few cases together. The rape jokes had not been ideal, though.

Sam bit the bullet and led him to the sight he’d woken to. He felt so protective of the quiet body on the bed as they both looked at it, even though it hadn't really been Crowley's to keep anyway.

Nick, slowly but without hesitation, checked for vital signs. It was futile, but kind. "Do you think Lucifer...?"

"Lucifer wouldn't do this!" Sam exclaimed, and when Nick looked up with an expression that was both hurt and pitying, Sam went cold in a rush. He stalked off to the bathroom to throw some cold water on his face, leaving the body just to get away from Nick’s efforts.

Nick, somehow still wanting to help the guy who kept screaming at him like an idiot, appeared in the doorway.

"Lucifer and I have a deal," Sam muttered. "That he can't kill anyone. I get maybe he's pissed I decided to, I don't know, try to have a life." He turned to Nick, water dripping down onto his t-shirt. "Look. I've had a lot of exes die. I mean, a  _lot._ My mom died cause of me when I was a baby, too. Like, it's been my fault, every time, just for caring so much. Stuff that could be directly linked to me being...me."

"And now this," Nick supplied when Sam didn't say anything else.

"And now this. So...I'm done. I thought things...I mean, this has all been me, not Dean. I'm my own...autonomous little...but now.  _Fuck_. It's. Why can't I ever just have...?" He groaned in frustration.

"Anything good?" Nick finally supplied.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yes," Sam said. "Exactly." He also didn’t really deserve the kind smile Nick offered.     


***

"It's nice, Dean. The way your dad's brainwashing techniques are playing out to my advantage," Michael said, running a finger through the reflecting pool and changing the image he was showing Dean.

The place where they met felt hot with indignation. "Usin' him for cheap labor again, huh?"

Dean got angry when Sam was threatened, as Michael had expected, but he hadn't expect the anger over how Dean's father was treated to be even more fun to poke at. "He makes it really easy. He's not intelligent; I see where you get it."

"He's the hero. Which makes you the villain, Mike."

"I think I have more control over you than my brother ever had over Sam. Lucifer never could do anything the right way." He could feel Dean backing off. He could feel Dean sympathize with the feelings he had about his brother.

Dean wondered if it was true, what Michael said. He'd never really talked to Sam about the control Lucifer had over him. It hadn't seemed like a conversation worth the awkwardness and worry it would cost to have it.

At this point, though, conversation with Sam would be better than conversation with Michael, even if Michael did have some good points about how horrible the human race could be.

***

"You two just sit around sipping coffee all day? It's like noon."

There was a silence from Nick and Sam that actually seemed to absorb the impact of the TV's low volume. Sam's dad stood framed in the doorway.

"Wait. Are you kidding me?" Sam's voice was low and calm, but it was full of pure, horrified shock. "Are you kidding me, Dad?" Nick saw tears in Sam's eyes, and was confused. "Are you kidding me?"

"What are you talking about?" John was suddenly uncomfortable too.

"I thought," whispered Sam, "'Maybe Dad's here to make amends.' Or, 'Maybe Dad's here to tear me a new one because he's so  _gracious_ that he'd just barge in here and...need that satisfaction.' I thought maybe you even wanted to see Mom, which I was okay with." 

"What's your point, son?" John asked, like he was talking to a vamp and had no weapon. Sam had thought maybe John was scared of him at times, even back when Sam was in kindergarten, because of all the danger he saw in him. This was confirmation. He hated to be proven right about his dad, and that happened all the time.

"Scared? You scared, Dad? You should be. You know all about Crowley. Did you do it? _How'd_ you do it? How'd you exorcise him? And where'd he go, if they can't get through the gates?"

" _What?!_ " 

Nick suddenly looked shocked. "You think he'd do that?" he asked Sam, eyes flicking to John.

"He's been fucking with me  _my whole life,_ " Sam explained, voice deceptively soft. "'No, Sam, you can't have friends.' 'No, Sam, you can't care about school; it's gotta be  _me, me, me,_ all the time.' 'Sam, you're a bad hunter, an evil kid, you're not like Dean, never will be.'"

"Sam.... Sammy...."

"'I'm sorry about your girlfriend. I would have don't anything to prevent that.' Really, Dad?" 

" _Yes_ ," John said, a raw edge to his voice. "You can question a lot of what I say, but that? Your mother was  _on the celing_. And, okay, maybe I didn't come to see you. I had another motive. _Of course_ I did. We don't get along."

"Because _you don't want us to_ ," Sam bit out.

"No, I don't," John said, giving a slightly-apologetic shrug. "I've come to grips with that."

Somehow, hearing him admit it was worse. John used to play so many games, pretending he cared. He just never did. Something in Sam that wasn't the indignation filling him up sparked to life, some sort of wound that had nothing to do with his anger about Crowley.

"But I also didn't do whatever the hell you're convinced I did," John said. "I went to go see your mother, and now I'm home."

"So, you didn't kill Crowley?" Nick piped up.

John glanced over at Nick in surprise. Nick was behind Sam in support. John thought Sam hated Nick.

"I don't even care anymore," John pointed out. "I don't care who you screw, what kind of life you live. I've been dead for too _long_ to care. How would I exorcise him without you knowing anyway? A spell, I guess. Not my style. Let me take a look." He pushed past Sam into the room, making his way to see Crowley's vessel.

John looked at Crowley's lifeless body, a little subdued. "No injuries," he pointed out after checking under Crowley's shirt. "Maybe it's just the suit?"

"Don't touch him," Sam said quietly, but it was more of a polite request than a demand. 

"Okay," John said, and it surprised Sam John didn't get mad at him for it.

"Demons look like smoke when they're out, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said to Nick, eyeing John. 

"Guys?" Nick murmured.

"What?"

There was a gasp, an inhale of breath for inhaling's sake, not for the sake of reacting to anything.

It was Crowley's meatsuit. 

It was Crowley.

"No harm, no foul," John said, crossing his arms as they watched Crowley catch his breath.

"Papa Winchester," Crowley said as Sam stared and tried to take in the fact Crowley was actually okay. "You've been very naughty."

John grimaced. "Alright, Crowley. What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I've been following you. Anything for Sam." he winked at Sam, then paused at Sam's shocked expression. "Wait. Didn't you get my...note," his eyes widened as he checked his pocket and found it. "Oh."

Sam slowly gave a nod of recognition, then made for the bathroom, where he shut the door and turned the lock. He turned the cool water on again and watched it flow from the faucet to the drain, the way life flowed, appearing, then falling away, going to various places before ever coming back, and maybe never coming back.

He took a moment to collect himself, to collect the facts and the horror up, to make some sort of structural sense out of it.

"I didn't know he could do that," he murmured to the water. 

Oh, he'd seen demons do it before. He'd seen Meg do it, and Faith, and he'd seen Lucifer hold her black smoke in the palm of his hand. 

Somehow, though, he didn't think of Crowley as a demon anymore. He'd seen him possess Linda, but too many things had happened since then. 

"Well," he amended, "I just didn't remember."

Behind him, visible in the mirror, were two towels, side by side on the towel bar. His and Crowley's. They were a joke wedding present, "His" and "Hers", the words backwards in the reflection he was eyeing. They each had a big heart on them. Sam turned and yanked his damp towel off the rack, eyeing it before letting it slip through his hands. It lay motionless on the floor, where it belonged.

How could couples' towels ever truly make him happy, if all that kind of thinking led to was hope that had him screaming accusation at the people around him?

Sam glanced at his new ring. It was practical in design, it showed he was taken, it made him feel more secure. There was a difference between that metal band and a towel that said, "His", even if the towel _had_ come from Jess. 

Yeah, maybe Gabriel could cover them and they could go to the store. A new towel might be a good idea.


End file.
